


Giddy Seizures

by orphan_account



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Cheating, Closeted Character, College AU, Eventual Smut, House Party, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:25:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Marvin is a boy who has giddy seizures, he’s laughing all the time. Marvin is a boy who has giddy seizures, sometimes they’re fatal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this train wreck! A lot of Marvin's characterization is based on In Trousers.

“C’mon, don’t be a bitch,” Whizzer’s voice slurs, egging the other boy on. Marvin, with a brief smirk, is reminded of the lessons about peer pressure that were drilled into his mind when he was in high school. Oh, if only the D.A.R.E mascot and his fat old health teacher could see him now-- tempted by a notorious (and spectacularly handsome) alcoholic. 

The impulsive part in his brain is battling with his natural sense of responsibility. His apprehensiveness is his own damn fault -- what kind of junior in college has never even had a sip of alcohol before? One who’s too busy studying, training his mind to enjoy the mind-numbing tasks of being a business major. He glances at the red plastic cup, then at Trina. She’s in the same boat as him. A completely sober and drug-free student, one who’s never even been to a college party like this before in her life. She’s clearly nervous in this setting, nursing a can of soda with a firm smile fixed on her face. The thought of him being so similar to her in this specific instance makes him grimace, and he takes the cup from Whizzer’s hand. 

They share a moment of eye contact, and the world stills for a moment to allow them a second of vulnerability while surrounded by loud, drunk jocks and sweaty party-goers. Whizzer looks at him as if he knows something, like the two share an unspoken secret that Marvin himself isn’t aware of. He mentally shakes off the strange feeling that gives him, closes his eyes and chugs the half-full alcoholic beverage. He opens one eye to maintain smug eye contact with Whizzer. When he crushes the plastic cup and tosses it back at his friend, he can feel the heat of the drink hit his stomach. 

“Marvin!” Trina laughs, but there’s a hint of anxiety in her expression. “Don’t mind me, Trin, just corrupting your goody-two-shoes of a boyfriend,” This earns a laugh from all three of them, and any underlying trace of tension clears. “I did not just see what I think I did,” Charlotte, with an eyebrow raised at Marvin, steps into the group’s circle with a red cup in her hand. Marvin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and feels a vague sense of pride. “Mind getting me another, Whiz?” 

::

“And then- no, then, wait- it was too big for him to put on!” Whizzer, positively drunk, can barely finish his sentence without laughing himself half to death, and Marvin laughs with him. “Jesus,” Marvin chuckles, his face red both from the alcohol and from the vulgarity of that story. Whizzer didn’t have a filter or a sense of self-awareness when he was drunk, but this was knowledge Marvin had been made aware of before via Cordelia’s gossip. This is his first time actually hearing it. “You know, I didn’t realize guys who sleep around all the time would care about wearing a condom or not. What’s the point if you’re banging a stranger every other night?” Marvin’s tone is light, and he laughs between his words. “I play it safe unless I know for a fact the guy doesn’t have a disease,” Whizzer waves his hand as if to shoo away Marvin’s rude statement. “Like closet cases. But then again, those are rare.” Marvin opens his mouth to question what that means, but he loses his train of thought when his sleeve is tugged on. Trina stands over the couch the two are lounging on, her hand on her hip. “I’m leaving. Whizzer can give you a ride home, right?” She seems awfully exhausted, and maybe a little upset -- Marvin isn’t good at reading people when his blood alcohol level is this high. Whizzer gives the thumbs up, but even Marvin isn’t sure of that; the man just told him an in-depth story about his recent gay hookup, and he reeks of vodka. He’s in no position to be a designated driver. Then again, the thought of him and Whizzer alone tantalizes him. He waves Trina off with a lopsided smile and then turns right back to Whizzer. “I’m gonna get another cup,”

::

The two decide to call a cab back to Whizzer’s apartment, which Marvin is grateful for. He didn’t feel like walking or possibly getting into a horrific car accident tonight. The horrific accident can wait until he’s sober enough to savor it. He ignores the morbid idea and turns his attention to Whizzer. The two are about level when it comes to who’s more drunk; Whizzer has had more, but is definitely less of a lightweight and more in control. Marvin, however, is barely aware of what he’s saying when he says it. He cushions the fall of whatever embarrassing thing he says with a fit of giggles. 

They wait outside of the apartment for the cab, sitting on the ground, and Marvin rests his head on Whizzer’s shoulder. “Are you drunk?” Whizzer teases. “Fuck, yes, ahaha, hahaha,” His face is so warm that Whizzer can feel the heat through the fabric of his sleeve. “You’re so fun when you’re not pretending to be a tight-ass, you know that?” Whizzer slurs every word, but Marvin finds it endearing. He briefly wonders why he’s so drawn to him right now. “My ass is most certainly tight,” is his giggly rebuttal, and Whizzer playfully shoves him. “Oh, trust me, sweetie. I’m queer, I notice,” 

Marvin’s cheeks turn even redder at that and he suddenly feels shy. He tries to quickly change the subject. “Hey, what were you saying earlier, about... case closets?” Whizzer furrows his brows and then realizes what he’s asking. “Closet cases, you mean? You really are a mess when you’re drunk,” Marvin laughs, far too much for a small comment like that, partially because he’s nervous and partially because the alcohol washed away the part of him that reminds him when to stop laughing. Whizzer grins, though, and doesn’t comment on how weird it is that he just laughed semi-hysterically for thirty seconds straight. “I was saying I don’t use a condom with them because I know they don’t have any diseases. Closet cases, like, uh…” He racks his brain for an explanation that will make sense to Marvin. “Guys who act like virgins, with girlfriends or wives who pretend to be straight but beg me for a blowjob in private.” 

Marvin chokes on his own spit, miraculously, at that. He has a loud coughing fit and then turns a deeper shade of red. “O-Oh? That’s… interesting,” Whizzer stares at Marvin for a long moment, then he opens his mouth to say something. After a few seconds, fluorescent lights wash over the two men and he closes his mouth. “Cab’s here. Up and at’em, Marv,” Marvin feels an odd sinking feeling in his stomach, as if he was expecting something. Like… a kiss? A kiss? He instantly feels very confused. Why was he expecting, with bated breath at that, a man to kiss him? Why does he feel disappointed that their lips didn’t crash?

While he’s drunkenly lost in thought, Whizzer pulls him up from his arm and guides him to the back of the cab with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-NSFW stuff in this chapter!

“Welcome to your kingdom, my prince,” Whizzer sarcastically hums as he unlocks the door to his apartment, Marvin still leaning on him for support. The two are almost uncomfortably close. Now that he thinks of it, they typically avoid touching each other in general, as if Marvin is afraid of getting too close to him. He groans against Whizzer’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts and he guides him indoors, shutting the door behind them. He sets him down on the couch, carefully, then disappears into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to eat?” Whizzer calls out, pouring a glass of ice water for the drunk man on his couch. Marvin simply groans in response.

“Drink this, it’ll help,” He hands Marvin the cup and sits next to him, watching his every move. The room spins ever so slightly, his vision still blurry from his drunkenness. It’s ironic, he’s wasted and showing a rare moment of care and responsibility -- all for Marvin, no less. The two are quiet for a while, and then Marvin shifts, laying his head on his shoulder once again, sharing his body warmth. “Can I say something stupid?” Whizzer glances at him with a smirk and raises an eyebrow. “You typically say stupid things without asking beforehand,” Marvin looks down and doesn’t meet the other man’s gaze. “Why... did I think you were going to kiss me earlier?”

“I was going to kiss you earlier,” Whizzer retaliates casually. Marvin’s eyes widen and his cheeks heat up. “Oh. Is that so…” There’s another moment of silence, and then Marvin breaks out laughing. He laughs and laughs and laughs, and he’s so light headed and dizzy and drunk and warm, that he can’t even stop to breathe. Whizzer can’t help but laugh with him in the absurd moment. After a minute, his little fit dies down and the room is quiet. “Jesus, don’t let your head swell. Why do you do that?” Whizzer snickers.

“S’been happening since I was a kid. I had… my moments. Little seizures of laughter,” Marvin feels embarrassed and tries to focus on the fact that he’s drunk, he has a free pass to be an idiot, it’s fine, whatever you say is excusable. “I never hear you laugh sober. You should do it more often,” Another period of silence. Intoxication; a free pass. Marvin swallows his courage.

“I want to kiss you, Whizzer.”

There isn’t a moment of hesitation, only a quarter-second after his remark so that Whizzer can give him a smirk, and Marvin is surprised at the other man’s lack of restraint. Maybe he was anticipating this, too? Their lips nearly crash together, an aggressive and entrapping action. Their tongues fight for dominance, and Whizzer finds himself straddling Marvin, their hips grinding together. _God, he’s such a good kisser_ , he thinks. 

He can feel his head spinning. He’s not queer, he shouldn’t be enjoying this. He shouldn’t be kissing back. Whizzer shouldn’t be making him gasp and moan under his breath. His dick shouldn’t be hard and straining against his jeans right now. “Ah,” Marvin winces, a mixture of pain and pleasure rushing through his body. He can feel the curve of Whizzer’s smiling lips on his neck and he continues to suck and bite at his sensitive skin. _That’ll leave a bruise_. The other man doesn’t hold back, and Marvin feels helpless to his attacks on his collarbones and neck. _Trina… Trina’s going to see. Trina probably knows already. Trina will find out. Trina, examining my neck, Trina, crying and confronting Whizzer, Trina, feeling cheated and deceived, Trina…_ “Oh, Whizzer,” He moans out. His voice is breathy and low, and the noises he’s making are very new to him. For one night, just one night… He can let himself slip. He can give in. It’s a one-time thing. He's definitely not gay, this is just like a silly game that went too far. Just blame it on the alcohol, right? Pretend it never happened the next day?

Whatever his plan is, his thoughts seem to vanish, quickly replaced with lust when Whizzer drops to his knees and unbuckles Marvin’s belt. He’ll worry about it in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this one is short, but i already have the next uhhh 2 chapters written! I don't want to post them all at once because I'm scared of abandoning this after impulsively writing a shitton in one night. anyways, enjoy, this totally Not Gay chapter

An annoying ringtone awakens Marvin, his head throbbing and his mouth drier than cotton. His first instinct is to launch his phone into the nearest garbage disposal and destroy it, watch it burst into flames and then get into a freak accident in which his entire body is burned alive, then he’s reminded of where he is right now. There’s an unfamiliar photography print on the wall he’s facing, and the sheets he’s wrapped in definitely feel more expensive than the shitty Target-brand ones he has at his dorm. He snaps upwards -- which turns out to be an awful idea, because, Jesus Christ, his head is killing him, how much rat poison did he fucking drink last night? He lets out a groan and clutches his head in near-agony. “Oh, God,” 

His phone stops ringing and switches to a long list of notifications and missed calls. All from… Trina. 

He frantically unlocks his phone and calls her back.  _ Please don’t pick up, please don’t pick up,  _ he thinks, exhausted. Unfortunately, he hears an all-too-familiar voice on the other end after a few rings. “I guess our morning study session is cancelled today,” She chirps, her tone passive-aggressive and dripping with annoyance. “Ah- About that, Trina --” “Forget it, it’s not important. You’re about to miss your first class, you realize that, right?” Marvin takes a deep breath in. “I overslept. I won’t miss any classes today, Trin, it’s fine.” There’s a long pause, and Marvin assumes she’s busy with something else. “Okay. Text me,” Her response is clipped, but not overtly rude. There’s an automated beep to signal that she’s hung up, and it feels like a God-given, sweet release. The phone drops from his hand and he sighs loudly.

He reluctantly pulls himself out of the bed, blushing when he remembers how his jeans ended up on the floor and tugging them on. Aimlessly, he wanders out the door and to the kitchen. Smells like coffee. He feels more awake when he sees Whizzer, sitting peacefully at the table, sipping on a mug and scrolling through his phone. “Morning,” His own voice sounds gruff and unfamiliar. 

Whizzer nods at him in place of a response. The atmosphere is… awkward. Marvin feels an urge to jump out of the window so he can escape a hypothetical discussion about his now-questionable sexuality. Instead, he sits at the table with him and anxiously folds his hands together on his lap.  _ I’m not gay, I was just drunk, _ he repeats to himself in his head. He waits for Whizzer to say something, anything to break the silence, but nothing comes. A sinking feeling invades his stomach and he clears his throat.  “Planning on going to your classes today?” 

Whizzer’s gaze flicks up at him. His expression is unreadable, but God, he looks pretty with the light hitting him like that. His dark hair is messy, flopping in his face and sticking up in odd places, his eyelashes long and pretty, his lips look plump and pink. An urge to kiss him suddenly grapples him, but he doesn’t act upon it. He’s not drunk anymore. He shouldn’t be thinking that way. Why is he still thinking that way? “...Marvin. Did you even hear me, egomaniac?” Whizzer jokes, his tone snide. Marvin looks up, shaken away from his thoughts, nervous. He doesn’t respond, and Whizzer rolls his eyes, repeating the statement Marvin ignored. “I am. I can give you a ride to the campus. We’re probably going to miss our first class, though.”

Marvin nods. His cheeks feel impossibly warm; he prays that his odd bashful behavior is undetectable. “On one condition, though,” Whizzer continues, crossing over the room to refill his mug. “Come back here tonight. I’ll supply the vodka,” The way he says this is not really an invitation in which Marvin has the option of refusing. Well, even if he had the option, he… probably wouldn’t. He wants to hit himself upside the head.  _ You’re not gay, Marvin. Stop acting so damn queer. _

“What the hell, sure.” He responds, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, pretending to ignore the sexual subtext of the preposition. His hands are shaking, but Whizzer doesn’t notice. 

He smiles at him and shakes his car keys around playfully. “Ready when you are, teacher’s pet,” Marvin glares at him and scoffs. At least their dynamic hasn’t changed at all.


	4. Chapter 4

There isn’t a single minute of the day that Whizzer doesn’t cross his mind, and Marvin fucking despises it. He needs to focus. On his schoolwork, on Trina, on how he is a  _ heterosexual man _ who shouldn’t even look twice at some snarky pretty boy. 

And yet… All that runs through his mind is the cadence of Whizzer’s voice, the way his lips curl around sassy comments, shaping his uncouth words with class, the way his head bobbed up and down in between Marvin’s legs -- Fuck.  _ Focus. On. Your. Essay. Focus on what the professor is talking about, jackass. You are not about to get a hard-on over a man in the middle of a lecture.  _ He takes a shaky breath and stares at the professor, he stares at his mouth moving and listens to the words. Not a single sentence he is able to process, he doesn’t retain a word. And again, his mind wanders. 

He decides if he’s not going to get anything from this lecture, he might as well fill his head with a different kind of information. He pulls out his phone under his desk and types into the search bar, “how to stop having gay thoughts”. God, that sounds pathetic. At least guys like Whizzer are out and proud about who they are; he can only pity the thousands of men who’ve searched the same thing, pushing down their feelings. Of course, he wasn’t one of those men. He had a girlfriend, for christ’s sake, a girlfriend who he… who he liked. He’s not  _ queer _ , it’s just not conceivable for Marvin to be. That’s not  _ him.  _

He looks up when he hears a collective of his classmates standing up, scooting in chairs and putting away papers. Finally, class dismissed. He didn’t learn a fucking thing, all thanks to Whizzer. 

He spends the latter half of his day being angry. He’s angry that Whizzer used his irresistible pretty boy charm against him, that such an overconfident queer targeted him and wrapped him around his little finger. It was his fault, not Marvin’s. These thoughts wouldn’t exist if Whizzer didn’t exist. God, he’s an asshole, playing with him and dropping to his knees and sucking Marvin’s dick in the name of fun.

“What’s the deal? Are you that upset over chemical bonds?” Cordelia questions him, scooting her chair closer. He stops scribbling on his paper and glances at her, finally distracted from the homosexual hellfire that is his brain today. “No, it’s nothing. Just hungover,” He manages a small grin, relieved to be speaking with another human being who isn’t Trina or Whizzer. “Gosh, you know, I have quite the picker-upper just for that. Why don’t you visit my dorm after this, I’ll fix you up a hangover cure that’ll knock your socks off,” She grins wide, and Marvin snickers. “Can’t wait. But if you make me drink Tabasco sauce and egg whites, I won’t forgive you,” The two share a pleasant interlude of laughter before stilling to a quiet. The class ends, and as he’s packing away his things, Cordelia leans in to whisper in his ear. “You know, your hickey’s showing,”

She steps back, holding her backpack behind her with a cheeky grin and walks away. He swallows hard, his cheeks turn bright red, and his hands fidget with his collar and he walks as fast as he possibly can out of the classroom.  _ Fuck you, Whizzer _ , he thinks to himself.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whizzer says jump, and Marvin says how high. Also, Whizzer knows more about alcoholism than Marvin does.

“We need to talk,” Marvin keeps his voice steady, his jaw tight, his calm facade a parallel to his shaky hands. Whizzer uncrosses his legs and looks up at the man who just entered, biting a nail, casual. “I expected as much. How’s Trina doing?”

“I -- Why would you --” Marvin sputters, his face suddenly hot with shame and anger at the mention of his girlfriend. The one he’s cheating on with a man. It’s without a doubt Whizzer said that to spite him. He closes his eyes tight, biting his lip to quell his petty rage. He was not going to melt down. _This is fine. Just focus on logic, be rational here, just focus on how straight and not interested in Whizzer you are._ “I’m… I’m not queer,” The word seems foreign on his tongue, and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. His statement (one that sounded very similar to a plea, a protest) is met with silence. He waits, watches the clock, counts one breath, two breaths, three breaths, four. Nothing comes forth from Whizzer. God, he looks like he didn’t hear a word Marvin just said. Marvin feels like a fool, a clown whose only purpose is to play along for Whizzer’s entertainment. Come, see the Marvin The Dumbass, with his bright red cheeks and shaky hands, jumping through hoops to avoid questions about sexuality, dancing around and playing with a deadly lion simply for its amusement.  

“Sit next to me,” Whizzer’s tone is unreadable, as it often was nowadays. Marvin hated it, he hated not being able to tell whether he hated or liked him. Everyone else around him was so easy to understand, but Whizzer seemed to guard himself from prying eyes, his intentions locked away for only him to see. This is unfamiliar territory, and it’s scaring the shit out of Marvin.

He does as he’s told, and Whizzer lifts his chin up with a finger, meeting his eyes for an uncomfortable few seconds of quiet. They kiss, and his tongue gently meets his, entangling each other, and Marvin feels himself vanishing again. He wants this so badly, he wants to stray from the clear and narrow path he’s been following his entire life, he wants to take a leap into the unknown and get lost forever in the scent of expensive cologne and hair gel. His hands comb through Whizzer’s hair, and God, Whizzer. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, his scent, his sweat. He was a gateway drug and Marvin was too close to becoming an addict.

Whizzer pulls away first, his breathing slightly labored and warm on Marvin’s lips. “Want to unbuckle your belt for me, stud?”

 

Marvin can’t say no to him.

::

Whizzer wipes excess cum off of his pretty lips, and Marvin finds himself feeling less firm on his strict belief that he is heterosexual.

His phone dings -- a text from Trina. He doesn’t bother to read it and instead rubs his neck, sighs, cathartic. “We totally skipped over the alcohol component in this equation, didn’t we?” Whizzer teases, still on his knees in front of Marvin. He grimaces and looks away, avoidant and exhausted from the rush of endorphins that came from his (embarrassingly quick) climax. He swallows his anxiety and begins to speak, trying to continue his previous spieling, his voice strained.

“Listen. Listen to what I’m saying, please. When we… you know,” He gestures vaguely, embarrassed to put into words what the two men did together. “I was drunk, and you were drunk. It doesn’t… _reflect_ … in any way, who I am. I have a girlfriend,” Whizzer’s heard this hundreds of times before, and Marvin himself is incredibly doubtful of the words coming out of his mouth, but he bottles up his uncertainty and continues. “So… drunk. That’s all it was. It was just a crazy night between friends that went too far. And this… I… I’m not drunk, but…” He wasn’t making sense. _Stop thinking so damn much, you’re not a queer, just continue._ “I am straight,”

Whizzer says nothing, just like he did before when Marvin explained this, and it makes his face go red. He feels disrespected, and he can’t fucking stand Whizzer’s bored expression. “Say something, why aren’t you saying anything? Am I just a fucking toy to you?” There’s only a short moment of quiet, calm before a storm, and Whizzer looks mildly impressed by Marvin’s tiny outburst of anger. The two typically avoiding showing real emotion to the other, so this was… a unique little fit.

Whizzer decides to take the bait. “Being drunk isn’t an excuse, you know. It’s not like you completely change as a person when you chug a few cups of jungle juice,” There’s something flickering in his brown eyes, maybe annoyance, a spark of anger and passion that ignites something in Marvin. _God, he’s pretty, and such a fucking asshole._ “I. Was. Drunk. You were drunk, too. Obviously it doesn’t reflect who I am,” Marvin releases a hollow laugh, sardonic.

“Do you know what inhibitions are, Marv?” Whizzer condescends in a snarky, mocking tone, standing up from his position and facing him. Marvin stands as well, shoving him, but with little force. “Don’t act like you know who I am,” It’s unconvincing, and Whizzer grabs onto his wrist, hard, in retaliation. “You lose your inhibitions when you’re drunk. The little hang-ups you have, the rules you force yourself to follow. The drunk you is just a you who doesn’t care about repercussions, shithead,” He spits, getting louder with every word. “So, yeah, you’re fucking queer. I just sucked your cock for five minutes, you came in my fucking mouth, I swallowed, do you not remember that?”

Marvin’s hands are shaking again, but Whizzer maintains his tight grip of his wrist. “You… have… a fucking hard-on, Marvin. What do you get out of lying to yourself?”

Marvin steps back, suddenly acutely aware of the blood rushing south, and he bites his lip. God, his own body can’t stay in control. His quivering hands run through his hair, and he can’t think of what to say next. He decides he has no option but to show a hint of honesty. “I don’t know what to do,” His voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, and tears fill his eyes.

“Hey --” Whizzer tries to quickly avert a session of crying, but his efforts are dashed. Marvin sinks to the couch and Whizzer’s grip on his wrist loosens. He hides his face in his hands, his body begins to shake, he’s sobbing quietly, and Whizzer suddenly feels very uncomfortable. He unclenches his fists, slowly and awkwardly sinking into a squatting position in front of Marvin to meet him eye-level. “Hey, hey,” The typical edge and sharpness of his tongue vanishes and he tries to make his voice as soothing as possible. “So...you’re confused. And it’s my fault. You’ll live,” Marvin only sinks deeper in his position. Whizzer isn’t cut out for this. He’s only supposed to cause sexuality crisises, not help those who are going through them.

“...Here. Come with me,” He takes Marvin’s hand away from his flushed face, lightly, and Marvin looks at him, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Whizzer leads him to his bedroom and then lies down. “Lie next to me. C’mon,” He pats the space next to him. Marvin does as he’s told, and suddenly… Warmth. Whizzer wraps his arms around his torso, facing him, and holds him. His heart skips a beat, and he swallows. He opens his mouth to say something, but Whizzer shooshes him. “Let’s just relax, okay? Bitch at me later,”

It takes him a few minutes to untense, but eventually he gives in to the moment and buries his face in Whizzer’s shoulder. He breathes in the scent of expensive fabric, cologne, skin… He’s surrounded by Whizzer. The only thing he has to focus on is him.

His exhaustion causes him to fall asleep pretty quickly, tears dry on his cheeks. Whizzer stares at him and watches his chest rise and fall with each unconscious breath. He feels a pang of guilt for lashing out at him, and holds him tighter to his chest -- _everything will be alright._ Marvin just needs to stop playing pretend with his girlfriend, he thinks. He needs to start coming to terms with why he likes gay sex so much. Then… Everything will be alright. It’ll just take time. These thoughts repeat in his head and manage to calm Whizzer, and he drifts off to sleep as well, his fingers resting in Marvin’s hair.

 

_7 missed calls from Trina, twelve missed text messages. Slide to unlock._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dissatisfied with this chapter but I N E E D E D to update. So have this. My creative process is dying, sorry for boring writing, kids. Next chapter will be saucier.

“No, he hasn’t been answering me at all. I’m worried,” Trina chokes out, speaking to Cordelia on the phone. It’s awfully late for a phone call -- 11:30 PM, but Trina hopes the fact that they don’t have school tomorrow makes up for this otherwise impolite gesture. There’s a pause, and it makes her stomach flip with anxiety. She paces around the room, the phone pressed to her ear still. Waiting for a sound, a change from the brief silence that’s sending her head through a myriad of worries and horrible possibilities. “Have you two not been hanging out lately?” That’s an odd question for her to ask, Trina thinks to herself, confused. She was expecting a confirmation, reassurance that Marvin’s okay, that his phone stopped working, that he’s just sick in bed and can’t move to text her, something for her to work with here. She clears her throat. “Not since that party, no. Do you know if he’s… okay?” Another long pause. 

It’s so silent in her empty apartment tonight; she can barely handle that white noise coming from Cordelia’s line, and she prays for her to just hurry up and answer so she can distract herself, even for a second, from her own thoughts. “Gosh... is it really 11:35? I’ve gotta get to bed, oh man, hahaha -- I’ll text you in the morning, okay, Trin?” Her voice seems even higher and squeakier than usual. She uses a nickname for Trina, despite the two never making a habit of doing anything of the sort.  _ Something stinks here _ , a tiny voice in Trina’s head whispers, and she bites her lip. “No, Cordelia, wait --”  _ Beep _ . Disconnected.

_ That “call ended” sound I’ve been hearing so often lately is getting to my head, _ she thinks. She stills for only a moment, then takes to her room. If Marvin wants to keep her in the dark, so be it. What does she care? Her phone dings, a text from Mendel reminding her of an upcoming essay, followed quickly by a more personal message. ‘‘How are you today?’ 

::

Marvin wakes up earlier than Whizzer. Fingers rubbing red-rimmed eyes, he slowly sits up. The room is silent, but it almost echoes with the various noises the two created here in previous nights. Into the bathroom he finds himself, inspecting his ever-the-same appearance. The curls on his head flop at odd angles, and the bags under his eyes are too prominent to ignore. He shuts his eyes and runs his hands through his hair -- trying to think. It’s so hard to form a thought at 8 AM. What is he typically supposed to be thinking about? Trina, homosexuality, school… None of it really matters. Christ, he’s only a junior in college. He shouldn’t be thinking of his issues as life and death, anyways. 

Okay, Trina doesn’t matter. All that matters is what’s in front of him. Two strong arms lace around his waist, and he’s startled for only a second; his body seems to instinctively relax and melt into the other man’s touch. “Good morning,” He mumbles, feeling shy. Whizzer squeezes him, ignoring niceties. “Get out of my bathroom. You know I’m not afraid to shit in front of you,”

“You’re disgusting,” Marvin replies, wriggling out of his grip and stepping away. He feels a little incomplete without the extra body warmth pressed up against him. “Glad I could make an impression,” Whizzer smirks and shuts the door in his face. This… is weird. It’s like nothing has changed, but obviously, everything has. The entire foundation of his life is in jeopardy because of a snarky pretty boy with a glittering smile. And yet… it feels domestic. Normal. As if he’s not cheating on his devoted girlfriend of 11 months. As if the two aren’t being  _ gay _ together. Behind closed doors, of course, but what would become of him if word got out? He sinks down on the bed. Would he even care?

In fact, the idea excites him. Whizzer and him, out on a date, maybe holding hands while walking down the street, kissing under the night sky. Saying the words “my boyfriend” out loud. Wouldn’t that be a dream?  _ Don’t get too cheesy, now _ , he warns himself, his entire being uncomfortable with the juxtaposition of Whizzer… being  _ romantic.  _ Don’t expect anything. Just let this be what it is. 

There’s a notification on his phone, one from his calendar instead of Trina. ‘Game at 6’. That’s interesting. “Hey, Whizzer, is there a game today?” The bathroom door opens, and Whizzer peeks his head out, speaking while brushing his teeth. “Yeah, we were all going as a group, remember?” 

He notices the immediate distress on Marvin’s face and pauses, holding the toothbrush in his mouth. “What? You haven’t been… ignoring Trina, right?” 

Marvin resists the urge to bust out laughing at the irony of the situation. He fears if he does, it'll quickly morph into crying. Instead he rubs his temples, glances away. There's a pause, but Marvin assumes it's not Whizzer trying to piece things together. Rarely are these awkward silences filled with complex thought. "...Wanna fuck?" Whizzer grins, salaciously. And so the anxiety leaves the room. They can worry about such mishaps in scheduling later. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the nausea before the game.
> 
> \- It's the knees that threaten to go bad, the scores that go answered and unsatisfied.   
> \- The throwing up, the passing out, and where to place the blame?  
> \- Would she applaud? Would she protest? Appeal to God?  
> \- The silent prayers, the nausea, the game.
> 
> (pray for him.)

Marvin is confused. He just woke up, it’s 9 AM, and it’s chilly outside. Why did he get ushered out so abruptly? He’s standing on the doorstep of the tiny apartment more formally known in his brain as Whizzer’s place. Before he could even rub the sleep out of his eyes or rinse the taste of sex from his mouth, he’s rushed to the door. This is irritating. 

“What’s the issue?” He furrows his eyebrows, staring up at Whizzer. He’s holding his red hoodie on his arm and his phone in the other hand, not having the time to gather his belongings in a neat way. The younger man doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “We don’t  _ live _ together, Marvin,” His mouth only opens to rattle off a typical snarky comment. Marvin huffs. “Well, that’s obvious, because if we did I’d have hung myself by now,”    
  
Whizzer sneers in response, sighs and shifts his weight to one leg, his hips prominent. His figure is noticeably more distracting than it was to Marvin a few months ago. Back then, he could just wave it off, blame it on his hormones acting up; now he can’t tear his eyes away. He’s almost embarrassed at his lack of self-control. “Today we’re hanging out as a group. I assumed the plan was to act nonchalant in front of your soon-to-be-wife, right?” Marvin chokes at this statement, and he barely manages to angrily sputter a retort. “She’s never going to be my wife,” he whispers with a shaky voice, feeling like he got the wind knocked out of him in the midst of his outrage. Whizzer seems to relish his reaction and grins. “Of course not. Now, why don’t you go back to your normal Marvin life so you can prepare for tonight? If you’re a good boy, you’ll get a handjob in the bathroom,” Marvin shoves him at this comment, greatly annoyed. “That’s disgusting,” 

He turns on his heel and walks away. As he leaves, he can hear a snicker and a comment Whizzer makes under his breath. “Glad I could make an impression,” 

:: 

 

“And where the hell have you been hiding?”

Marvin rubs the back of his neck and shifts his weight awkwardly. His body language is far from confident; in fact, his knees are threatening to give out on him and go bad at any given second. This unfortunate confrontation, though unwelcome, was expected. Marvin had asked her if he could help her get ready before “The Game” (AKA the heavy dark rain cloud that looms above him, threatening to ruin his entire life) via text after being kicked out, and she reluctantly accepted. He isn’t in the mood to feed her an excuse, but what the hell is he expected to say here?  _ Sorry, I ignored your texts because I was busy sleeping with one of our mutual close friends? One who just happens to be a homosexual male?  _ Trina watches his facial expression carefully, and his mind comes up with a quick answer. 

“...I was having... family issues,” He mumbles noncommittedly. She lets out a short sigh, softening. “Marv... I was worried,” Feeling like a time bomb that’s about to explode, Marvin doesn’t meet her eyes. He’s good at keeping secrets and straight faces. The guilt, however, is new to him. It washes over him like an ocean wave at high tide, drowning him from the inside out — he wonders if the salt water will flood out of his nose and eyes soon. There’s a sudden warmth on his shoulder. Trina’s hand is placed there firmly, and the two finally make direct eye contact. “Are you doing okay?” 

He takes only a half-second to catch his breath. “I’m fine.” His voice is steady, as is Trina’s longing gaze. She smiles softly and steps back. “Well, I’m glad. I don’t like it when you shut me out like that,” Her tone is light-hearted, but there’s a sad twinge in it that Marvin can tell is from her remembering the pain she felt every time she was left ignored. He doesn’t quite like the smiling response, but then again, how much can he expect from her? Should she get on her knees and applaud his bullshittery, should she protest and fight against his blatant lying? She’s one woman, after all. Trina seems to be left unsatisfied with his response, as well, one that left many questions unanswered, but she doesn’t make an effort to press on. He touches her forearm.  “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry,”

There’s that gooey look welling in her eyes again, all tender and loving, and Marvin feels the stomach acid, the bile creeping up his throat. He swallows his nausea and closes his eyes tight. Trina seems oblivious to this tiny crack in his facade. “Well, we gotta be there at 6:30 sharp, don’t we? Get ready for the game, dear,” She smiles at him and then turns, going to her room to pick out an outfit. He sinks into her couch. His entire body feels disgusting. His mouth is entirely too dry. His head is killing him. But... this will pass. He’ll be with the group and pretend to have fun and pretend like he and Whizzer are just friends, nothing more, he’ll show public affection for his loving girlfriend, and everything will be just peachy.

In his head, he repeats a silent prayer;  _ please don’t let Whizzer blow my cover. _

Almost as if this summoned him, Marvin’s jean pocket vibrates, and he glances at the screen of his phone. ‘Ready for tonight ;)’ is the first thing his eyes scan, and the text is a rather revealing image of Whizzer’s lower body. Suddenly, he’s reminded of everything:  _ Whizzer, the blowjobs, the sex, the cheating, the homosexuality, the secrets _ \-- He immediately turns his phone off and shoves it back in his pocket. Heat rises to his cheeks, but also in his throat, and suddenly it burns; he nearly trips getting up and sprints to the kitchen sink, hands clamped over his mouth.

“ _ Fu—uck, _ ” he barely manages to groan before the sound of him vomiting fills the room. His vision is going blurry, one disaster after the other. Before he can wipe the puke from his chin, he’s falling to the ground, slipping out of consciousness. His entire body is burning up.

Another appeal to God, a new silent prayer playing in his head as he fades out;  _ please smite Whizzer Brown down in the very spot he stands today.  _


End file.
